


Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes

by deutschtard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone mentioned how lonely Mycroft must be, even more so than Sherlock since he has associates, not friends. And this little drabble came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes

_Christmas was simply another day to Mycroft Holmes. The chugging on of the political machines never stopped, not even for holidays, and neither did he. He'd learned at an early age that there was no need for frivolities on this--or any other--holiday, as it frequently led to having to involve himself in social interaction that wouldn't do him any good in the long run._

_His home was empty, save a small candelabra in the window to show he wasn't_ completely _mechanical. The vibration in his pocket of his mobile forced him to pull his nose out of the book he was re-reading for the twentieth time(the abilities of a speed reader were both a blessing and a curse)._

Merry Christmas Mycroft. SH

_Mycroft opened the attachment his brother had sent him to see a small wreath on the cow's skull that adorned the wall of 221B Baker Street. The corner of his lips curled up in a small smile as he tapped out a response._

How festive. To you as well, Sherlock. -MH

_The mobile went back into his pocket as he finished off the last forty pages of the novel. It went back in its place, perfectly aligned with the rest of the series, and he walked silently in the near-pitch darkness of his home, making his way to the kitchen. A small snifter glass was filled with egg nog from a store no one could pronounce, and a small bit of rum was added--just enough to taste._

_The radio began playing yet another of those discordantly beautiful traditional carols as he raised his glass to no one in particular, fingers tapping on the marble of the counter top as he sipped his only Christmas tradition._

_Not ten minutes later, a phone call. Some Uzbekistan national kerfuffle that required his seeing to. He donned his thick woolen jacket, put on a bowler hat to shield his head from the cold and stepped out into the snowy evening._

_A few drunkards from the pub greeted him with "_ Merry Christmas,  _Guv´ner," to which he politely nodded his head once, meeting Anthea at the car._

_She sat across from him, endlessly ticking away at her mobile, and he watched the lit streets of London pass by. At his office, he hesitated to move._

_"_ Sir? _" Anthea questioned, prying her eyes away from her mobile._

 _Mycroft didn't answer immediately._ "...Merry Christmas, my dear _," he breathed, awkwardly giving his best respectful smile._

 _It was met with a genuine one from his compatriot,_ "Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes." 

_With that, he exited the car and went to his work. Not even Saint Nicholas could stop life from chugging on, and Mycroft Holmes wasn't about to stop it._


End file.
